I had to run down to Guitar Center today — well, had to in the sense that I had a very slim justification and I took it and ran with it — and so got to enjoy some beautiful blue L.A. skies with fluffy white clouds and palm trees while everybody else I know is buried in a pile of snow and rain. There’s something so disgustingly fun about Hollywood. It’s so dirty and lame and not what people think it is, but it’s still so pretty. But it’s not Hollywood that I really love seeing. It’s all the dumb tourists, staring blankly at cars and wandering aimlessly betweeen souvenir shops with their cameras and stupid hats:

There isn’t any point in leaning out the window and hollering that it’s all a sham, 90% of the industry is in Burbank and not Hollywood, and that all that plasic crap they’re paying for could have been procured more cheaply on eBay. Oh, and the L. Ron Hubbard museum is a waste of three hours of their lives. But I won’t. If they want to look at Sunset Strip through rose colored glasses and think all that glitters in Tinseltown is gold . . . that ain’t my problem. But I can laugh at it.